Kyrie Eleison (Formerly 'Praying For Him')
by A.K.A. Anonymous
Summary: A boy kneels alone in an empty church, looking to the cold statues and flickering candles for help. Hints of one-sided 1+2.


Title: Kyrie Eleison (formerly 'Praying For Him')  
Author: AKA Anonymous  
Warnings: Implied, one-sided 1+2 (weird, huh?) Angst.   
Disclaimers: If I actually owned the G-boys I'd be ripped to shreds by the other otaku fan-girls, so I'd rather leave them to their creators. I only write for fun, no profit beside feedback.  
  
Notes: ~~blah~~ denotes flashback sequences  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
The candles' soft light barely touched the tense figure kneeling within their reach. He gave no signs of life except the slow moment of his chest and the clenched fists that shook just enough to assure the old chaplain that the boy had not petrified on the spot. The darkness of the night crept in through the brightly stained windows, cloaking everything in silent shadows and ominous gloom. The chaplain's skin crawled for a moment at the solemn air that invade his sanctuary, but he did not move from his place of observation within the darkness; his eyes fixed on the small form whose only attention was the ivory statue of the Virgin.  
  
All other parishioners had left the church, not even the wandering waifs of the streets had stayed, once the boy had taken up his long, tense vigil. Only the priest stayed, though out of view, to watch the youth; for what purpose, he did not know.  
  
There was so much anguish hanging from the thin frame, pain rolling off like waves of icy water, and the unwavering eyes pierced the frail candle light like knives. The priest wrenched his gaze away, silently admitting he was not strong enough to continue his study and helplessly recognized that he couldn't stand the sight any more then his people, let alone understand and offer comfort despite his feeling that God wanted him to do something.   
  
The old man fingered his cross for a moment, closing his eyes and praying with every fiber of his body for the battered boy that knelt alone in the gloom of the cathedral. 'God, I've never seen such a lost soul. Is there nothing I could do to help him?'  
  
As if hearing the prayer himself, the boy shook his head, and began to whisper to the snow-white statue before him.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Why am I here? Why? For him? This won't help him...will it?  
  
I don't believe in any God, and even if I did, it probably wouldn't be this one; this is his God. This is the one he's never seen, that he tried to blow off when he was a child, but carried in his heart and around his neck for most of his life. The God of forgiveness and redemption, could He bring him back?  
  
Why am I here? All these candles can't bring him back like he was. There is no scientific proof that groveling before a carving would cause a miracle-if even those exist.  
  
Can God hear me? Will he--even though it's me, the killer?  
  
I don't care. If there's the minutest of possibilities that something can help, it's worth trying. For him.   
  
"I liked him just as he was. How he was always popping up, blowing the order of life all to Hell. How he got under your skin and annoyed you just until you want to scream, but if he leaves you, you suddenly feel like the whole world is silent and empty.  
  
"I liked him for who he was because of his past. I liked how his muscles tensed unconsciously at the distant sound of sirens. How he stashed food everywhere, like a chipmunk in winter. His eyes would find every possible escape route in every building he entered, automatically.   
  
"The remnants of his life as a street kid only made him a better fighter, a stronger ally, and a loyal friend.  
  
"For all the horrors and brutalities he's been through-to have him taken away like that..."  
  
~~A man in a white lab coat fingered his collar nervously as he tried to keep pace with the young boy. He babbled, trying to explain several things at once while eyeing the stoic face with unease. "Extensive surgery might be...it was only a concussion, at first...with that kind of injury there's really no telling..."  
  
They stopped in front of a white door that looked innocent enough.~~  
  
"Everything he's gone through and he's never given up. Don't You see? Don't You understand? He's so much stronger than me; he can't lose everything now, it's not fair!   
  
"I know so little about him, but if You don't help, I'll never find out *why*.   
  
"Why he tracked me down. Why he never took my threats seriously. Why he always smiled for me, even when he was in pain.  
  
"Except for today... He didn't smile today."  
  
~~The white door seemed to open of its own accord, bringing a crisply made bed into view and the soft beep of a heart monitor.  
  
"He's lucky to be alive," the doctor whispered to the boy in the doorway.~~  
  
"God, I want to see him smile again! With sunlight glinting off his eyes and hair, so I can wipe the pale, dull versions from my mind. I want to hear him laughing again, even if it is at me. I don't care. It would be worth all my pride just to have him acting alive again. Yelling, swearing, proclaiming himself Shinigami-anything in that arrogant tenor voice that I've become so fond of.  
  
"If You are there, God, Allah, Kami-sama, Yahweh-whoever, whatever-bring him back to me. Just as he was, the way I'll always remember him, the way I'll always..."  
  
~~Pale, creamy skin that blended too well with the hospital's uniform white, wide violet eyes that were confused and dull stabbed into his mind. The young boy couldn't fit the drawn figure before him with the vivid, carefree mental image of his friend. The boy in the bed was a mere ghost.~~  
  
"I'll always love him, but..."  
  
~~The boy on the bed gripped the white sheets, distrust written on the heart-shaped face.   
  
"Who are you?"~~  
  
"I want him back, please?...please..."   
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
The old chaplain could not hear the boy's prayers, but his heart ached in relief. His words were heard by a greater power, his suffering was not alone; his silent tears would not be unnoticed. Still, as the man turned to the altar his eyes swept up to the crucifix and he whispered one last prayer.   
  
"Kyrie eleison. He deserves it."   
  
****************************End  
  
So...sorry about the angst, but please let me know what you thought.   
  
Oh, and 'Kyrie eleison' is 'Lord, have mercy' in Greek. (Thanks to Christine C. from GWFF for pointing out that it's *not* Latin!)  
  
Feedback: theanonymous12000@yahoo.com Always welcomed and appreciated...even flames. It gets cold in the NW, gotta kept warm somehow! 


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